I don’t have any but I do wish my sisters were here. They drive me mad but they would help build their vision of what this should look like. I can’t believe how fast this is moving; weliterally wrote our plans for this on the back of a pizza box only eight weeks ago. Now it’s a half-arsed business coming to life. People are paying to come and stay here. I’m not even sure how much they’ve paid. There are expectations on my shoulders; I’m the one in the thick of it, managing it all while they’re in London, making dubious flyers.
‘Do they know I’m here? Who I am? Who to expect?’ I ask.
‘Kind of,’ Phoebe says unconvincingly.
‘I don’t know what that means.’
‘I mean, we’re also going to lean into the idea that your name is Lorenzo.’
‘Lean?’
‘Trust.’
5
DAY ONE
CHLOE
Ibiza
‘Take a holiday,’ George said. ‘Take a break from real life and give this to yourself.’ Going to Ibiza is more spontaneous than I’m totally comfortable with. I’m not the kind of person to just jump on a plane because my brother showed me a flyer. I’m more meticulous than this. Although I’ve not taken a holiday for a few years now, I’m an organised holiday-goer. I usually label all the bottles in my toiletries in case I get my conditioner mixed up with my face wash and I bring a variety of outfits for going out, for the beach, sensible trainers for sightseeing and enough insect repellent to drown a million and one mosquitos.
‘Hi, are you Lorenzo?’ I ask a man in a shirt and tie standing in the arrivals hall, looking like he may be a chauffeur of sorts.
‘Well, I can be if you want,Señora,’ he says, raising a strong eyebrow.
I step back, nearly tripping over my trolley bag and holding my handbag close to my chest. He smiles. I do not.Please don’t kidnap me. You seem nice but I have no sexual interest inyou and your impressive sweat patches.I don’t know what I expected from this trip. I guess a service where someone would be waiting for me? I’ve been standing here for nearly twenty minutes since clearing customs and I’m starting to wonder if I should phone George and shout at him. This is what happens when you’re impulsive and don’t read the small print.What happens if no one shows up?All I have is an email address. I don’t even have a contact number. I’ll have to book a hotel. I’ll have to work out the cheapest way to get to the main town. I don’t even know what the main town is. I did zero research, which is proof I must be more burnt-out than I realised. I guess I thought I’d just be picked up, taken to a villa and then I’d sleep for a week. I couldn’t even find Ibiza on a map if you showed me. It’s an island, that much I know.Does it have an embassy?This does not bode well.
‘Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing but are you waiting for someone called Lorenzo too?’ a woman standing behind me asks, tentatively clutching her phone. She has a wonderful frizzy halo of hair, sunglasses perched on her head, and is wearing a stylish black jumpsuit, a green cardigan and flip-flops.
‘I am,’ I reply and she instantly reaches out to hug me. I cling onto her shoulders, similarly relieved, even though I have no clue who she is.
‘Thank holy monkeys for that. I was just about to ring my husband and get him to cancel the credit cards. The retreat, yes?’
I nod, thankful to meet someone in the same position. Maybe if we have been duped we can share a hotel room together before we work out our next steps. I look down at her sparkly flip-flops and the bangles on her arm. She’s more glamorous than me, better turned out. I’ve gone for a wide-leg trouser and a vest top but I have a hoodie wrapped around my waist and I never travel in open-toed shoes – mainly because I’ve seen too many disaster movies where it’s been imperative to run from danger at shortnotice. Like from snakes, vampires. Or to help Idris Elba fight Russian spies.
‘I’m Chloe.’
‘Zara. Can I ask a funny question? Did you find out about this from a flyer?’
‘YES!’ I say a little too loudly. ‘With Pedro Pascal on the front.’
She sighs loudly with relief. ‘My daughter thought I was being a complete moron. Of course Pedro Pascal isn’t going to be there, but you know what? I took it as a sign that I should be here: divine intervention.’ Zara points to the sky and we laugh, the moment relaxing us both. ‘But I guess the fact old Lorenzo isn’t here doesn’t bode well, eh?’ She sighs and our laughter peters out, turning into the sort of silence that sits between strangers who know they’ve got themselves into a mess. ‘Story of my life really,’ Zara says. ‘First holiday on my own for years and it’s a big fat con.’
‘I guess he could be stuck in traffic?’ I suggest.
‘Or we’ve been completely mugged off. Like when I see convincing AI videos and show them to my kids. This will be another thing for them to laugh at me about,’ she says, looking resigned and tired.
I see the fatigue in her eyes. ‘So, you have more than one kid then?’ I ask.
‘Three.’ She holds up the screensaver of her phone: it’s a photo of three teenagers making strange hand gestures.Christ, are they all in a gang?Those are some white, white socks. They look like the sort of kids who hang around my local Co-op stealing vapes and Tangfastics.
‘Louis, Jay and Bella,’ she says beaming with pride.
‘Am I allowed to say you don’t look old enough?’ I ask.
‘Any day of the week,’ she says, laughing. ‘Thank you. And you? Kids?’
